


Unspoken

by CrescentMoonRising



Series: The Night is Darkest Before the Dawn [15]
Category: Actor RPF, British Actor RPF
Genre: Depression, F/M, Friendship, Male-Female Friendship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-26
Updated: 2016-03-26
Packaged: 2018-05-29 03:04:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,273
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6356395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CrescentMoonRising/pseuds/CrescentMoonRising
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>So, to those who have not realized or been sweet enough not to point it out, I haven’t written anything in close to three months .  It’s been a long and painful drought, and with so much turmoil in my life, the inspiration and motivation to write disappeared.  Then London happened and ideas came rushing back like a broken dam. </p><p>This is a back to basics return to where most of my writing started–with Benedict and Noelle.  I think her demeanor here reflects my own personal struggles from the past few months and what started all these stories–their friendship.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unspoken

_The Orangery at Kensington Gardens_

Ben’s eyes periodically flicked back and forth from the worn path leading up to the grand house that held Kensington Garden’s open and light tea room to his friend who walked beside him.  He pressed his hands deeper into his pockets, twisting a few coins between his fingers to keep occupied. The silence was only broken when he opened the door for Noelle and she responded with a barely audible  _‘thank you’_. 

As they were led to a table in the small atrium at the back, private and quiet, Ben’s head filled with his own thoughts.  One voice rose above everything else and it belonged to Thomas. They had spoken the day prior.  Their conversation began as the usual with insults and well wishes thrown at the other, but Tom became serious after only a few jabs at Ben’s expense.  That was Ben’s first clue that something was wrong, especially when his friend was the type to go on for five minutes in a declaration of love for his favorite vegetable.

_“Something’s wrong with Noelle.  I can’t put a finger on it but she’s not herself.  I know it’s not me, I think we all know she’d tell me if that happened again. This time it’s different Ben, I can feel it.”_

Ben merely grunted before Tom continued,  _“Her happiness seems forced.  Can you check on her for me, please?”_

Ben had no problem with the task, figuring it was a case of Tom’s nerves with being far away from his wife for so long.  He experienced it himself when he was away from Charlotte, and after everything Tom and Noelle had been through in the past, it seemed like the most logical of assumptions.

He could not have dreamed that Tom would be spot on in his beliefs.

Just looking across the table at his friend, the difference screamed at him.  It took repeated texts and finally a trip to the house to get her out, and even at that, she barely changed from her leggings and t-shirt.  Wet tendrils rested against the collar of her shirt as her unlined eyes roamed over the menu.  

Once the teas were ordered, Benedict reclined in his chair, “If Afternoon Tea at Kensington Palace can’t cheer you up, then I think a trip to New Bond Street is next on our list.” He didn’t need to ask if she was okay, their friendship of nearly two decades transcended any small talk between them.

Noelle only shook her head, the concealer giving just the barest of coverage to the dark circles that framed her eyes.

“Is it his absence again?”

“Is it inappropriate to say no?” she responded, folding her hands onto her lap.

Ben jutted out his lips with a sigh, “No, there’s times I’d rather be alone too.   I think it’s normal.”

She played with the fork on the table, tracing the gold patterns in the green-blue china. It took Ben only a moment to realize that Noelle couldn’t meet his eyes.  She looked everywhere–to the windows, the crisp white linens and to the worn marks that spattered across the tiled floors. 

He almost wished she’d cry or yell or just slam her hands onto the table.  He’d rather listen to her complain about work, life, her husband–anything.  Silence did not fit Noelle.  While she did not look like the broken woman who returned from Shreveport at the end of 2014, her clothes hung off her again as she was just a hanger.

“If it’s family…”

She cut him off, “I don’t know what it is or if there’s a name for it. Which makes it incredibly hard to fix when you can’t pinpoint the problem.”

Instead of telling her it would all be okay, and the darkness would pass or some other platitude that is given far too often, Ben could only sigh and nod.  He played with the cool metal that rested on his left hand, his throat tightening with every passing moment for whatever caused this issue to Noelle.

As the teapots arrived, Ben dropped two sugar cubes into Noelle’s cup. That small gesture prompted her head to dip down, her hair falling in front of her face as her fingers pressed to her mouth.  The waiter hurried away, and Ben leaned into her.

“We can leave…” he began as he reached into his back pocket for his wallet.

“No,” she managed, finally catching her breath from holding it in.  The pink that mottled the skin around her eyes and cheeks gave the signal that Noelle was waging a war within herself. 

“You don’t have to know what’s causing it, you’re in it and that’s plenty,” he said while pouring her tea and milk. “You don’t need to name it or fix it.  You can sit here and drink or eat– _I would rather see you do both_ –and then just know that I will be here no matter the time or place.  And I’ll sit here in silence along with you.”

“I think I’m tired,” she managed before facing her white porcelain cup.

“But it’s not what more sleep can cure.” The rapid blinking of her eyes signaled her agreement.

Her focus moved to the window behind him, her eyes resting upon the red brick façade of the palace.  Noelle’s skin almost seemed to reflect the gray skies above them.

“I think I’m tired of London.”

His eyebrow raised, “Then you’re tired of life.”

“I’d call that a correct deduction, Sherlock.” Her small grin gave him the tiniest glimmer of hope that his old friend remained in her. Her mouth opened again, but just as she was to speak, the waiter returned with the delicate tray of foods. Ben just about suppressed his aggravation with a curt thanks.  

He waited a beat before they were alone again, “We all get tired.  Life ebbs and flows and change can make it faster and slower.  No matter what, I just want you to know you have some constants and absolutes.

“It bears repeating that I am that constant for you.  So, don’t you dare give up.” The change in his tone was purposeful and it caught Noelle’s attention.

“Whatever this is, I will stand right by you to figure it out.”

Noelle shrank into her chair, “But–”

“But nothing.  I know where you’re going with that.  You’re as important as anyone else, Noelle.  You’re one of my best friends in this world.” He reached under the table and held onto her hand.

Her eyes filled again, this time one or two tears escaped onto her cheeks.  She thanked him again, and he shook his head, not wanting or needing thanks.  This was why he was there, and why he would always be there.

As the waiter returned to check and make sure all was well, Noelle went to pull back her hand. Ben remained firm.  He cared not for who saw, and life was too short to worry about what others thought or believed.

He inhaled sharply and with his free hand, pulled a piece of cake from the top of the tiers, “Let’s at least have some Victoria Sponge, and try these scones that I’m sure are not as good as my wife’s.  I’ll talk, or not talk, whatever you want. However, I’m not leaving.” It was only after a small squeeze that he retracted his hand to place the fluffy cake onto her plate.  Noelle finally met his gaze, her eyes still swollen and heavy but a glimpse of relief had emerged.

“I love you,” she managed.

“I love you too, darling girl.”

 


End file.
